Ghostly Encounters
by PokeyDotes
Summary: Deeks leans against the wall as he tries to reign in his temper, tries to remember what it is that makes him one of the good guys.


**A/N: **I truly have no idea where the idea came from...but I went with it. Not too sure how I feel about it though.

**Ghostly Encounters**

Trying to determine the best course of action has always been a tricky one. Sometimes it flows on instincts—like steering left instead of right. Other times it requires a little thought. Like now. Standing in the rain. With a loaded gun.

Despite what people may or may not think, Deeks has always had a low tolerance for stupidity. Yeah, he likes to fool around—in every sense of the word—but he still knows when too much is enough. He knows when to pull back, when to stop the forward momentum and tell the world to back off.

Like now. Standing in the rain. With a loaded gun and a heavy conscience.

He's willing to bet money that if his phone were on right now, it'd be going crazy, the screen lighting up from one ignored call after another. It's tucked deep in his back pocket, the weight familiar, weighing down his steadily soaking jeans.

He brings a hand up and once again wipes the water from his eyes. It doesn't rain that often in LA, and yet…

Weatherman called for thunderstorms, and like clockwork, they had rolled in just after lunchtime, darkening the sky, and thickening the air. He's shaking a little, his t-shirt plastered to his skin as he leans against the building, trying to take a steadying breath, trying to remind himself that now would be a good time to back off. He's dangerously close to crossing the line, that abstract division that separates _Almost _and _Too Far._

Deeks has always had a low tolerance for stupidity, especially when he's the one acting the fool.

Nobody's dead, at least no one else. The team's still intact, their identities still secure. Tomorrow promises to be threat free and sunny. Except Deeks can't get it out of his mind, can't get the _unfairness_ of it all to leave him alone.

The bad guy's not supposed to get away. Not ideally. Yet, Deeks can see the guy, just across the street, carelessly laughing as he holds an umbrella over himself and the woman he had just met, acting for all the world like he hadn't just killed six people three days before.

They know the guy's guilty, he all but confessed, yet there's nothing they can do. Not when diplomatic immunity comes into play, and ain't that a bitch?

So now, Deeks leans against the wall, his fingers tapping along the length of sodden denim as he tries to reign in his temper, tries to remember what it is that makes him one of the good guys.

He knew the moment he turned the corner and saw the guy that he couldn't do it. It's not who he is. There may have been a moment or two where he thought _Yeah, the guy deserves to have his ass handed to him._ But it had only been a moment, a quick errant thought that wasn't truly worth contemplating.

The gun's there, but only because it always is, not because he has any intention of using it. In truth, he hadn't thought about what he was doing when he left, angrily turning off his phone, and ignoring Kensi's worried questions. It wasn't until he was within three miles of Downtown that he finally understood what his subconscious was doing.

If he had his way, he'd walk across the street and knock the smile off the bastard's face. But then again, if Deeks had his way, he wouldn't be standing where he is now.

The woman's laughter drifts across the street, piercing the sound of the rain and traffic. Deeks watches as the man gestures to the building, quickly ushering the woman inside, out of the rain.

"Admit it," Deeks mumbles quietly, leaning back so his shoulder blades rest against the brick wall, "You were a ninja in a past life, weren't you?"

"Why does it have to be a _past_ life, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asks in return, taking the few steps needed to completely round the corner, the top of her umbrella even with Deeks' cheekbone.

Deeks lets a lazy, crooked smile play out as he tilts his head, the rain forcing him to close his eyes. He doesn't know how long she's known where he was, but he's glad she found him.

"What do you say we get out of the rain?" Hetty suggests, her tone friendly and inviting, despite the hardness Deeks can see in her eyes as she turns her attention from the couple disappearing into the hotel across the street to the man standing next to her.

Deeks shrugs one shoulder and gives a defeated nod, knowing it's best not to try and contradict Hetty—at least not twice in one day. He falls into step behind her, watching as rain drops gather on the sleek surface of the black umbrella before racing to the rim, slowing just before falling over the edge as though they were contemplating changing their minds. Deeks can relate.

The bottom of Hetty's pants are soaked, the rain sloshing up with each step, and Deeks feels worse, because he knows the only reason she's outside is because of him. They walk in silence, Hetty leading he way.

She leads him into a small bar, the lighting dark and appropriate for the mood Deeks is in. He suddenly feels nervous, like a kid being caught red handed by the principal. But Hetty is still calm, she's yet to show any sign that she's upset. Other than the hardness in her eyes.

They sit at a table in the back. The air vents blow out warm air, but the hairs on Deeks' arms still stand at attention, his trip into the rain causing small bouts of shivers. He's so focused on what's coming next, on what Hetty may or may not do, that he doesn't notice the waitress approaching their table until Hetty's distinct voice breaks through the sounds of the bar.

Deeks hears her order a scotch, is surprised when she orders him a whiskey. He doesn't say anything, though. Simply lets her do what she wishes. Truth is, he probably needs the drink. He feels a small smirk begin on the corner of his mouth as he realizes she probably knew that.

In no time at all, the waitress is back setting the two glasses on the table, and handing Deeks a towel. Deeks smiles shyly, knowing he looks like a drowned rat. He's soaked to the bone, the shivers getting worse as he continues to sit in the warm room.

He buries his face in the towel. It's stiff, scratchy, and smells like antiseptic and lemons, but it gets the water out of his face. He rubs it over the top of his head a few times, allowing it to soak up some of the water saturating his curls before letting it rest across the back of his neck.

He looks up to find Hetty staring at him patiently, her fingertips reaching across the table to push the whiskey tumbler towards him. Obediently, he takes a sip, feeling the welcomed warmth spread through him.

"Do I want to know why you were standing outside Mendoza's hotel after strictly being told to stay away?"

Deeks keeps his eyes focused on the table, mentally tracing over the numerous rings left by countless beer bottles before.

"Probably not," he answers honestly. He winces internally at the sound of his voice. It's harsh and gruff, tired in a way it shouldn't be. When Hetty doesn't say anything, Deeks forces himself to look up. Her eyes are still hard, but Deeks can detect something else there. Or at least he hopes he can.

She's leaning back in the chair, her hands folded in her lap. She purses her lips and breathes heavily through her nose before shaking her head, her hand rising to rub at her temple.

"I'm used to this kind of behavior from the others," she says, sounding just as tired as him, "I believe they're starting to be a bad influence on you, Mr. Deeks." A small smile graces her pursed lips, and Deeks sees the hardness in her eyes let up a bit, that something else that was present before being recognized as understanding.

"I'll be sure to tell them you said that," Deeks jokes, taking another, much larger sip of his drink. They sit in silence, Deeks perfectly content waiting for Hetty to make the next move.

The wind begins to pick up outside, blowing the icy rain against the windows, the noise drowning out the smooth jazz playing from the bar's speakers. Deeks watches as the rain continues to fall, his mind going over the last few days. His tongue finds its way to his lower lip, worrying a small cut he had gotten almost a week before thanks to a bad guy's elbow.

"I wasn't gonna kill him," Deeks says out of nowhere, wanting to make certain that Hetty hadn't been thinking along those lines. "I just…just wanted to…" he waves a hand openly in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular as he lets the sentence drop, not really knowing how to finish it.

"Wanted to make things right?" Hetty offers, and Deeks can see complete understanding in her gaze.

He snorts a derisive laugh as he pulls the towel from his shoulders, bringing it to set in his lap, his attention focused on the frayed edges. "It sounds naïve when you say it out loud."

"On the contrary, Mr. Deeks. I believe naiveté would have come into play had you actually acted on your desires," Hetty says, a hint of pride breaking through her tone.

Deeks looks up from the towel, confusion written all over his face. Hetty smiles, and takes a sip of her scotch before continuing. "You didn't do something you'd regret," she clarifies.

Deeks lets his eyes fall back to the table and its numerous rings. "What if I regret letting him get away?"

"We both know nothing you would have done tonight would change the fact that he's getting away. At least, for now," Hetty says authoritatively, sounding like a parent trying to coerce her child into seeing reason. "Mendoza will walk, but we'll get him eventually."

"After he hurts someone else," Deeks concludes, tossing back the remainder of his drink, hissing as the burn takes him a little by surprise.

Hetty turns her scotch back and forth, the edge of the glass smearing the condensation on the table. "Unfortunately," she admits reluctantly. "But there's always the chance we can get him before then."

Deeks can feel one of his eyebrows arching disbelievingly as he stares at her, knowing from experience that it usually doesn't work that way.

Hetty seems to be reading his mind, because she gives him a soft, knowing smile. "I have a great deal more experience than you when it comes to dealing with ghosts."

"Ghosts?" Deeks asks, propping his elbows on the table, his fingers thrumming absently against the wood.

"Indeed," Hetty says with a smirk, taking yet another sip of her drink. She stays quiet for a while, long enough to make Deeks question whether or not she intends to continue. Eventually, she clears her throat and begins to speak again.

"I'm fairly certain you can remember each and every case that didn't go your way. Am I right, Mr. Deeks?"

Deeks tightens his jaw as the memories come unhindered, his head dipping once in a quick nod, confirming what Hetty already seems to know.

"When you get to be my age, when you've done the things I've done, you accumulate a great many…_ghosts_, for lack of a better word," she tells him. Her voice is thick and grated in its seriousness, and Deeks feels as though the entire bar has stopped to listen to her. But a quick glance around proves otherwise.

"We all have cases that haunt us, cases where the bad guy, as you call them, got away. And sometimes they're ghosts because they didn't," she finishes solemnly. Deeks considers the implications of what she's just said, what it could mean.

He clears his throat nervously, uncertain whether or not he's welcome to ask. "When you say 'because they didn't', do you mean…" he begins, trailing off when he sees Hetty's eyes flit away.

He lets the subject drop, leaning back in his seat, his fingers once again finding the steadily drying material of the towel. He tries and fails not to look surprised when Hetty's voice once again captures his attention.

"I have done things in my life that I regret," she says, looking up and meeting Deeks' bright stare. "There was a time, Mr. Deeks, when I was very naïve."

Deeks remains quiet as Hetty continues to keep eye contact, insuring that Deeks understands what she's trying to say.

"Weston Mendoza became your ghost the moment his name came across our screens," Hetty tells him sadly. "But I have to say," she continues, her tone serious, "I'd much rather him haunt you because of his diplomatic immunity rather than because you had taken things into your own hands tonight."

Deeks swallows heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to keep his emotions in check. It's a whirlwind of feelings, all of them deciding to hit him out of left field. He knows he could have thrown everything away had he chosen to act on his anger tonight. There's only so many times a member of their team can get away with insubordination before the gig is up. And seeing how he's the low man on the totem pole, what with not being an actual agent…it's safe to say he would have kissed his career goodbye.

Then there's the whole issue of accepting that Mendoza is actually going to get away, that the man won't have to answer for the deaths of six people. Deeks feels the burn of bile filter its way up his throat before he can swallow it back down.

But all that aside, the thing he focuses on the most is the thought that Hetty had actually cared enough to share a bit of her own demons with him, imparting her shared wisdom, letting him get a glimpse of her own experiences so he wouldn't have to learn on his own.

"So, now what?" he asks, the sound of the rain still filtering through the bar.

Hetty stands from her chair, carefully holding her umbrella out in front of her as she levels Deeks with a mischievous glare. "I say we head back to Ops. We still have a few hours before that bastard leaves the country."

Deeks laughs, tossing the towel on the table as he reaches in his pocket for a few crumpled, soggy bills. He simply smiles as he stands, gesturing to the door in an _after you_ gesture.

When they make it back to Ops, Hetty and Deeks both dodge the others' questions about where they've been, neither mentioning Deeks' moment of weakness. Morning comes and goes, taking Mendoza with it on a First Class flight.

Deeks still gets angry, taking his frustration out on a punching bag when he can't simply let it go. He talks with Kensi, listens as she gives him the same platitudes that Sam and Callen share, that there was nothing they could do.

But at the end of the day, it's a glass of scotch, another of whiskey, and a knowing smile that help him deal.

FIN


End file.
